


Brothers Consulted Beginnings

by nightmares06, The_Raconteur_24601



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - fandom, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, 221b, Borrower Sam, Borrowers - Freeform, Brothers, Cursed, G/T, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Moving, Size Fic, Size Kink, Supply Run, Tea, The Borrowers - Freeform, Tiny Dean, Tiny sam, Weechester, Weechesters, borrower dean, crossover fanfiction, cupboards, cuppa, curse, cursed brothers, g/t writing, giant tiny - Freeform, hand, morning tea, moving in, new home, reaching, sam and dean - Freeform, sherlock and john - Freeform, sherlock gt, superlock, supernatural gt, young brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Raconteur_24601/pseuds/The_Raconteur_24601
Summary: Sam and Dean, attacked and cursed by a witch at the tender ages of 10 and 14, did their best. They escaped, they got away from her clutches. But the first people they go to for help don't turn out to be on their side, and they find themselves living in London, trying their best to get by under four inches in height.This is a collection of the short stories and prompts from Brothers Consulted, a future AU that is in development!





	1. A New Haul

“Please… we need help…”

Dean held Sam close to him, looking up at the woman with dried tears clinging to his eyelashes. Twenty-four hours. Just twenty-four hours since they’d woken up like this, and there was a small light in the dark.

He couldn’t quite remember everything. It was all a blur before waking up in the hot, humid darkness. A woman, breaking into their room and attacking them. Dean could do nothing to keep her from his little brother. She’d pinned him effortlessly to the wall, without once touching him, forcing him to watch his little brother vanish into a white light.

And then doing the same for him, the world going black as the white light surrounded him.

Now, they’d escaped from her, but nothing was the way they remembered.

Motel rooms were larger than sweeping cathedrals. A football stadium could fit on the two beds. People were giants, the remote for the TV was unmovable, and Dean was scared.

Nothing, not his dad’s training, not Bobby’s stories,  _nothing_ , could have prepared him for this.

The woman stared down at him, her eyes widening in slight surprise. Dean could see so much detail in her face, he knew the moment her pupils dilated. He could smell the sickly-sweet scent of wine on her breath when her mouth parted.

That was all the warning they got.

Her hand swept out, long fingers curling around the two tiny children. Sam cried out in surprise as Dean did his best to block her attack, but standing under four inches tall meant there was no way for him to stop her.

A fist closed harshly around them, and Sam’s cries went from surprised to pained, and then stopped.

Dean sucked in a breath as the motel room nightstand vanished under their feet, the height forgotten in the wake of worry for his brother.

_What did she do to Sammy?_

“Please,” Dean begged. “We just need  _help_ …”

She lifted them up, her hand opening when held in front of her eyes. There was no warmth in those eyes as she scanned every one of the brothers’ very few inches.

“Wonderful…” she breathed, that sickly smell hitting Dean in a wave. He almost retched.

Containing his reaction, Dean glared at the woman as he cradled his brother in his arms. “What did you do?” he shouted angrily, Sam’s arm limp and hanging from the socket in an unnatural position.

“Sweetie,” she said in a condescending voice, “you’re just a  _toy_. A  _possession_. You should remember that the next time you talk back.”

She turned from the nightstand, the long fingers curling around the two boys as she rifled through the pockets of a jacket and withdrew a phone. A red-painted fingernail winked in the light at them as it tapped out a message.

**New haul. Bring cage.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   **Prompt:**
> 
> Dean + possession (prompted by phoenix-firemage )
> 
> [Original post](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/153780593249/a-new-haul)
> 
> We do not own Sam, Dean, Sherlock, John or any part of Supernatural or Sherlock Holmes. The storyline and all other characters is the property of nightmares06 and The_Raconteur_24601. Please do not repost. :
> 
> pl1 is the beta reader of this AU, and she's doing a great job!


	2. Dislocated Brothers

“You dislocated his shoulder!”

The shouts might as well have fallen on deaf ears for all the good they did. Dean glared out the bars of the cage he and Sam were trapped in, wanting nothing more than to sink his silver dagger into  _something_.

Anything.

But no. They stayed stuck, with no way out and no way to find help. The woman whose rough handling had injured Sam casually thumbed through a magazine, waiting with her captives and ignoring them as though they didn’t exist.

Dean supposed he should be grateful they still even had their knives. After escaping that hexbag and finding their way to other humans, the brothers had tried to find help to reunite them with their father. Instead, they’d found capture. It had happened so fast that he never got a chance to draw his blade before he was tossed in a cage next to Sam.

Sam, who was out cold, one arm hanging unnaturally.

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said, lowering his voice and trying to hide his desperation. “I’m gonna take care of this for you. Nice and easy, just like dad always says, right?”

Sam didn’t respond, his breathing ragged. Dean prayed the woman hadn’t hurt his brother when grabbing him from the ground. She was  _so big_. There was no telling what kind of damage she could do to them.

Dean took hold of Sam’s arm and said a quick prayer under his breath. “One, two–“

Before saying “Three,” he quickly pulled, the arm shifting back into the socket. Sam shrieked, the ten year old’s body writhing in place as the arm took its rightful place. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, trying to comfort the younger child while glaring at the woman outside, tears clinging to his eyelashes.

In that moment, he made a promise to Sam.

One way or the other, they’d find a way  _out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are caught good, and Sam's shoulder got dislocated. Dean not only has to take care of his baby brother now, but also deal with giants that seem to have decided they're pets.
> 
> Timeline: Eighth day after being cursed
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Dean + desperation from an anonymous reader
> 
> [Original post](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/153614459930/dislocated-brothers)
> 
> These little BC shorts will give a good deal of background for the upcoming series, backstory that not even John and Sherlock will know (might not even know some of it ever, depending on how things go).


	3. A New Flat

“See? What’d I tell ya? It’s  _perfect_.”

Sam frowned, glancing from side to side in the newly-discovered ‘room' they’d taken for themselves in the wall of one of the flats on Baker Street. It was cozy and dark, some scattered beams of light slipping through cracks in the wall. Sam brushed a hand against that wall, peering out into the flat beyond.

None of the humans that called 221B Baker Street their home were around at the moment, leaving the brothers on their own to check things out. And there was plenty to see.

So many rumors dogged this place that they’d nearly heeded their adopted family’s advice and gone elsewhere. But it was so  _tempting._

For two brothers, raised to make a difference, the last place they’d want to end up at was a dead end, unable to help anyone. Hell, unable to help  _themselves_.

Dean had heard of the Consulting Detective and his doctor of a flatmate, two men who did what they wanted to do-- helping others, whether they saw it that way or not.

It was an irresistible temptation, and once Dean had looked in on the events at the flat, his mind was made up. The chance to hear about cases? Solving murders? Sign him up, he’d take it. Though it might not be hunting monsters with his dad the way he’d thought he’d be doing years back before his curse, it would do.

“I suppose,” Sam said slowly, his voice lowered so any possible humans in the area would never be able to hear him. “It’s not the  _worst…_ ”

Dean almost glowed at the assessment and jumped straight into his excited rambling, already prepared to make his case.

“If you check out over here, the wall’s nice and weak. We’ll be able to make a door just like at our old place. And back  _here_ ,” Dean gestured, dragging Sam along with him, “there’s a straight shot to the kitchen counter. Whatever else they keep in there, they  _have_  to put food in the cabinets eventually, and that means we’ll be able to snitch it.” He waved over his head. “Old walls, plenty of passages and weak spots, lots of clutter in the main flat so anything we take goes unnoticed…”

Dean paused, and looked at Sam. “It’s  _perfect,_ ” he reiterated hopefully.

Sam’s mouth thinned to a line as he considered it. “What about the ‘experiments?’ " he asked quietly.

Dean’s eyes shot towards the kitchen with a slight wince. They both knew all about Sherlock Holmes and his ‘experiments.’ Far too much. Rumors abounded in the walls about the odd body parts Sherlock kept around, even going so far as to keep them in the  _fridge_  or  _microwave._  It was right out of a horror movie, if the man got his hands on any  _people_  like that.

“We’re not gonna get caught,” Dean affirmed. “We’re some of the best around, and you  _know_  it. With your sense and my knack… we can make this work.”

Sam was caught off guard by the sudden pleading in Dean’s eyes. It wasn’t often that Dean tried turning his own puppy eyes on his younger brother, since they rarely worked so well but this time…

“Sure,” Sam sighed.

_What could possibly go wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Almost a year before [Brothers Consulted](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/tagged/brothers-consulted/chrono) begins
> 
> A jump in time, since the prompts didn't go past the first few days of the curse (yet! These chapters may not go in order, just as they come to me!). Here we have an unprompted short story I came up with for the moment Dean was trying to get Sam to move into 221B Baker Street. Sam has some reservations, but Dean is _done_ with sitting around in the walls, getting supplies, and surviving day to day. He's found a detective and fully intends to listen in on the cases they solve here, keeping himself busy with new puzzles.
> 
> Of course, puzzles are great, but he better remember that a _detective_ lives there, and keep any sign of their living in the flat absent.
> 
> [Original post](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/154336080814/a-new-flat) on tumblr


	4. Morning Tea

It was just another supply run.

There was no reason for either brother to think  _this_  morning would be any different from any other.

It was becoming their regular routine; wake up early, grab some food from the cabinets, keep an eye on Sherlock and John while they were up and about. Midafternoon to evening was a good time to catch some sleep with the humans at their most active, and during the night the brothers would pick through the main room of the flat, reading up on the materials Sherlock scattered about his latest cases and grabbing extra supplies for the supply room they were building across the fireplace from their home.

It had only been a week since officially moving in, but so far the schedule was holding out. There were a few hiccups along the way while learning and they had to have chosen the  _most_  erratic humans around, but the brothers remained hidden against all odds.

“Anythin?’ “ Dean hissed at Sam as he hesitantly pushed at the entrance into the cupboard.

Sam paused, his eyes unfocused as he concentrated on the strange knack he had. Without that ability, moving into  _this_  particular flat would be ill-advised. Between the two of them and their unusual abilities, it became worth the risk.

“Nothing,” Sam confirmed, and Dean climbed into the cupboard to begin their raid.

Throughout the last week, Dean had begun the lengthy process of creating entrances where they were most needed. It was a skill he’d picked up like a natural, mechanically inclined the way he was. Mapping out the walls was accomplished the first few days, and Sam had created an intricate diagram using some scrap paper and the broken tip of a pencil Dean had tracked down for them to use. On that diagram he had marked off the most desired entrances into the main area where the humans lived, and was slowly checking them off as they were completed.

The entrance into the cupboards for food being one of the most important ones to make.

Now, they could slip right in under the humans’ noses and get what they needed to survive. It wasn’t much compared to what someone normal sized might eat, but they’d learned harsh lessons early in life that they weren’t seen as people. No handouts would ever come their way.

Sam brightened up at the sight of a new box of cereal, the top already opened. “It’s fresh!” he chirped brightly, letting his hand fall to his hook in preparation.

Dean nodded. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, stationing himself between the teabags and the cereal so he could see the front of the cabinet in case it was opened.

Sam tossed his hook into the air. His aim was not as good as his older brother’s, but the three prongs made it easier to get a catch, and the sturdy weight of the hook wasn’t a deterrent with his natural strength. It caught on a flap, and Sam tugged it questioningly. With it holding fast, he started to climb up the side of the box with his boots braced against the side and his grip tight on the black thread, the weight of the cereal inside preventing it from tipping over on him.

Reaching the top quickly, Sam balanced uncertainly on the uneven ground. It took some doing, but he was able to work one hand under the top flap and tug it open, revealing the food inside. With his satchel empty, there was plenty of room to stash the food, and no way for John or Sherlock to know some was missing unless they weighed the cereal by gram as they ate.

The humans in the flat were odd, but not quite  _that_  odd.

Sam balanced with one boot on either side of the box and started to scoop up the cereal one piece at a time, filling them into his bag as he went, his position precarious.

* * *

John was especially groggy as he entered the kitchen. Not only had the night out with his friend Mike Stamford gone on for longer than he’d meant it to, but the storm that followed made John’s old bullet wound act up, disrupting his sleep for the rest of the night.

The doctor rubbed absently at his left shoulder, the gloomy morning still giving him an ache there. Ordinarily he’d get something for breakfast started before getting his tea, but ever since he’d moved in with Sherlock Holmes not so long ago, John found his schedule being arbitrarily changed– mostly his  _sleep_  schedule; John was certain he still hadn’t recovered from that late night filing through a pair of dead men’s books– and his habits shifting. Right now, he was in dire need of caffeine.

There was water left in the kettle, so all he had to do was plug it in and push down the little switch to get the heat started. Rubbing his eyes in attempt to get rid of that heavy feeling in his lids, John fumbled at the cupboard door and groped blindly for a teabag.

* * *

The footsteps weren’t unexpected, but what  _was_  unexpected was the lack of reaction in Sam’s knack. Light washed over the tiny pair as the wide door swung open.

Both brothers’ froze.

Unbelievably, considering how Sam was perched on top of the cereal box, one boot braced on either side, and how Dean was frozen right out in the open, John Watson  _didn’t notice them_.

The oblivious human wasn’t even looking in their direction as his hand stretched out, blindly groping past the box Sam was stuck on.

Dean snapped out of his shock, stumbling away from the grasping fingers that were longer than he was tall. As he backed away, his hand fell on another of the boxes shoved in there by Sherlock.

Teabags.

Saying a prayer under his breath, Dean grabbed a teabag from the box and shoved it in the direction of John’s huge hand. All he could do was hope that if John got what he was looking for, the human doctor wouldn’t glance into the cupboard and spot Sam, who had no fast way down from the box unless he fell inside with the cereal.

John’s fingers latched onto the thin material of the teabag, curling into a loose fist around it as the hand retreated. With a half-yawn, half-groan, John let the cupboard door fall closed and dropped heavily into a chair while he waited for the kettle to boil.

As the door slammed shut, Sam sucked in a breath. John hadn’t noticed. Sam was right there, perched on a box of cereal, and he hadn’t seen a thing.

How?

While the sounds of John peacefully preparing his cup of tea filtered into the cupboard, Dean tilted his head back and waved for Sam’s attention. Catching Dean’s meaning, Sam inched his way backwards until he reached where his hook was lodged, and scaled down the box.

Time to get out of the cupboard before their luck ran short. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: After the brothers move into 221B Baker Street
> 
> So... Sam and Dean are certainly having an interesting time so far in their new flat. John has no idea. None whatsoever. He got his tea from a very smol Dean.
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Sam + stuck from an anonymous reader
> 
> [Original post](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/154209927095/morning-tea) on tumblr


	5. Not Where He Left It

Sam ran along the tabletop, his pulse thudding in his ears as he went.

Another day, another supply run.

Of course,  _this_  time was a little different. With Dean’s odd ability, they’d been able to track down some pencil lead for Sam to use to write with, always a hard-to-find commodity even here, in a flat with belongings strewn haphazardly about and a vast treasure trove of supplies for people Sam and Dean’s size.

It was a bit of a risk, with the humans still in the building, but Sam didn’t want to risk the snapped lead vanishing when one of them cleaned up. He’d been able to find enough scraps of paper to form a haphazard journal, but needed something to write with. His old bit of lead was nearly ground to dust.

Two shards of the tip of a pencil were nestled in his leather satchel, bouncing against his side as he ran. Sam made it to the edge of the table, peering down at the floor to see where Dean was, waiting for him to get down. They couldn’t afford them  _both_  out in such an exposed place, so Dean, the weaker climber, stayed on the ground.

Instead of using his hook and thread to climb with, Sam took advantage of the chair that was leaning against the edge of the table. A black jacket was draped overtop the chair, and offered Sam more than enough handholds to get himself to the floor. He cautiously began to pick his way down the fabric, occasionally glancing at his surroundings.

Just then, the stairs between the flat and the one upstairs creaked as John descended from his room, tugging on a jumper as he went. He needed to go to the bank, run to town for a few things, and was considering a stop at the pub later that night for a well-needed drink.

And with Sherlock shut in the bathroom preoccupied with his bioluminescent bacteria cultures, without a case on, John had a rare opportunity to slip away.

John was straightening his short, sandy hair, mussed by his jumper, as he entered the main area of the flat.

Sam stiffened, and Dean didn’t need his signal to know it was time to dive for cover. The older Winchester vanished behind one of the sturdy table legs as the floor shook under his boots, unable to do anything to help Sam out without taking an even  _greater_  risk of John spotting them.

With his knack tingling a sharp warning, Sam looked up at the table. It was too far up for him to risk climbing back up and searching for a hiding spot. The floor was too far down to reach in time if John decided to come into the kitchen.

Which left him one option.

Sam let go of the fabric he was clinging too, plummeting straight down into the dark folds of the pocket which yawned open beneath his feet.

John paused at the door when he noticed his coat wasn’t on its usual hook. It wasn’t on his claimed armchair in the living room either, and that’s when he remembered he’d left it in the kitchen. With a sigh, he rounded the corner and approached the table, never spotting the small shadow that ducked behind a table leg, only leaning out slightly to keep an eye on him.

He bent to retrieve his gloves from the pocket first, without even the slightest suspicion that there was someone inside, dodging fingers longer than he was tall.

Which, from the second John’s hand entered the pocket, Sam  _was._

His first warning was the cold shock that ran down his back from his knack. Sam’s eyes widened in the darkness as he saw a shadow fall over the light that leaked in from the kitchen.  _Hide_. He had to hide better.

In the pocket with him was two black gloves, providing the cushioning for his landing. Without them in the way, Sam would have tumbled all the way to the bottom of the pocket. With John so close, that’s what Sam needed. More distance.

Squirming around the gloves, Sam put them between him and the opening of the pocket. Long fingers reached in, groping around for the gloves that were stuffed inside for safekeeping. Sam spotted them, and his breathing sped up.

_Hands!_

Memories of his first week cursed came flooding back, and his desperation to escape John’s grasp only grew. Sam twisted around, kicking the gloves further up in the pocket interior while he slid all the way to the bottom. His first experience with hands like that, his shoulder was dislocated. The last thing he wanted to do was relive that, and it was all made worse by the knowledge that John was a  _doctor,_  more than qualified to dissect either brother if he got them into his hands. All the experiments around the flat always drove that truth home to them when they were out.

Finding the gloves right away, John’s fingers dove straight down to achieve a secure grip on them. A knuckle brushed against Sam’s jacket, the contact going unnoticed by the human as something else caught his eye.

“Dammit, Sherlock…” muttered the doctor, straightening and placing the gloves on the table.

“I said, keep your cultures off my things!” John strode toward Sherlock’s work table, delicately plucking petri dishes from his laptop, which his flatmate had a habit of commandeering. With a huff, John tucked the computer under his arm and rushed it upstairs to scrub it and lock it in his bedroom before he found anything sprouting on his keyboard.

Sam couldn’t believe his eyes. He remained flattened at the bottom of the pocket, listening to the distant footsteps as they thudded up the stairs of the flat, waiting to be sure that John was  _actually_  leaving, even after  _touching_  Sam’s jacket, the closest he’d come to a human in  _years_. He’d thought it was all over right then, the hand would shift position, making him tumble into the human’s grasp and sealed into a fist by fingers stronger than his entire body.

Instead, John had pulled away and stalked across the flat yelling at Sherlock, and Sam was wasting his opportunity to escape thinking about it.

Quickly pulling himself to his feet, Sam scaled out of the pocket in record time. Dean was down by the table leg, staying close to cover in case the human came back. He didn’t have Sam’s uncanny knack of  _knowing_  when someone was about to come into the room and spot them, leaving him more vulnerable than Sam.

Not that it was doing Sam any good today.

Sam used the thick threads of the jacket to climb down, dropping the last few inches. His arms continued trembling from the close call, shaken. Dean’s arm was on his back to keep him steady the moment he got down, but seconds later they were running across the floor.

It was time to get out of sight for the rest of the day. Their luck had been pushed to the limit enough that week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: After the brothers move into 221B Baker Street
> 
> ^^; Oh, boys... how will you survive without getting noticed...
> 
> Lets take a few less risk the next time you need pencil lead, Sam
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Sam and John from BC + touch from [mayorkenzieofskyeview-blog](http://mayorkenzieofskyeview-blog.tumblr.com/)  
> [Original post](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/154251076233/not-where-he-left-it) on tumblr


	6. Stricken Sneezes

“Look out!”

Dean shoved Sam out of the way, his younger brother stumbling backwards from the unexpected danger. Moira yelped, grabbing Sam’s arm to haul him back, leaving Dean to face the threat on his own.

A cat.

Dean didn’t budge an inch, his silver knife in hand as he faced down the cat to give Sam and Moira time to escape. This was  _supposed_  to be a quick trip to grab some supplies, stock up Sam and Dean’s new home a few flats away from Moira’s family. They’d only had enough extra food for one meal, and having Moira’s help was welcome.

Of course, no one ever consulted them when getting a new pet, and not knowing that a  _cat_  now lived in the flat Moira’s family called home meant that they’d stumbled right into it.

“Mrow?”

It wasn’t quite the hiss of anger Dean had expected to hear before the deadly paw descended on him. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. He squinted his eyes open just as he realized he’d closed them as he prepared for the inevitable.

The cat still sat in the same spot, its tail swishing from side to side. Now that the element of surprise was gone, Dean could see it was only a kitten, nose twitching as it looked over the three tiny people it had cornered. Its head moved closer and Dean stiffened, expecting at any second to feel the crushing fangs close around his chest.

Instead, a wet nose pressed into Dean’s side. He jolted away in surprise, almost flailing off balance. The kitten blinked at him, then  _mrowwed_  again.

Stalemate.

Sam and Moira, standing against the wall, stared at the odd scene. Slowly, it all began to sink into Sam, and he snickered.

Dean sent him a wounded look over his shoulder.

“It wants you to  _pet_  it!” Sam called, almost doubling over with laughter.

Dean tore his gaze from Sam and looked back at the kitten just as a headbutt from the animal knocked him from his feet. He went sprawling, rolling a few times until he landed at Sam and Moira’s feet, staring up at them in a daze.

Moira joined Sam in laughing as they hauled Dean to his feet. “Go on!” she said, shoving him towards the kitten. “Pet her!”

Dean reached up a hesitant hand as the kitten cocked her head at him, ear flicking the moment his hand brushed against the fur. He scratched behind the ear like it was the most important task he’d ever performed, considering that if she wanted to, the kitten could turn the three of them into her playthings.

Nothing like that happened, aside from a rumbling purr from deep in the cat’s chest. She stretched out her front legs, each toe extending as she flopped down at Dean’s feet and looked up at him.

“I think you have a new best friend,” Sam said in a laughing attempt at a hush as he slipped past Dean, leading Moira towards the wall entrance they’d left behind.

“You’re not so bad, are ya?” Dean mused as he rubbed behind the ear again, thinking everything was going to work out fine.

Just as Sam and Moira made it to the wall, it happened.

“Ah– CHOO!”

Dean’s sneeze was so violent he was knocked off his feet, landing on his butt an inch away from a curious ear flick. The kitten picked up her head, nosing worriedly at Dean when the scritches didn’t resume. He barely noticed the large wet spot left on his leather jacket this time, too concerned with holding back another sneeze.

“ACHOO!”

Sam had to come back to grab Dean with Moira safely in the walls, hauling his older brother up and giving him a shove at the entrance while distracting the kitten with a scritch. Sam, who didn’t have any allergies to cats, did much better than his older brother, and escaped the moment the kitten’s eyes fluttered shut.

They parted ways with Moira at the fork in the path, her returning to her home with her parents while Sam propelled Dean towards their new home in the hopes that dunking his head in water might help the sneezes.

Otherwise, they might lose their ninja titles.

All through the walls, Dean sneezed.

Passing a kitchen with wonderful aromas wafting through the walls. “Ah-choo!”

Hearing a toilet flush. “Ah– ACHOO!”

Sam let out a sigh as they finally got home, hurrying to their water supplies while Dean morosely picked at a long, ginger-colored hair that clung to him even after leaving the kitten behind.

“ _Ah– CHOO!_  ”

* * *

The humans living in the flat were  _usually_ more observant than most. They were also quite busy and happened to be lost in their own worlds.

Sherlock Holmes was wrapped up in an experiment, subjecting disembodied fingers– specifically the fingernails– to the flame of a blowtorch at gradually lengthened intervals.  It was a relatively quiet experiment, but the  _smell_  of it had John Watson slamming the sliding kitchen doors shut to keep the odor out of the main room.

John sat at the small table against the wall in the middle of the living room, typing away at his blog. Sherlock’s most recent case had been a convoluted one, and he wanted to be sure to get the details right. Or at least to a point where they made sense to the layman.

A muffled sneeze briefly broke his concentration.

“Gesundheit,” John muttered, under the assumption that the fingernail-fumes were finally starting to get to Sherlock. For his part, the detective hadn’t even heard the small noise from the kitchen, and so he and the doctor remained blissfully ignorant of the smaller residents of 221B Baker Street as the brothers stared at each other in shock, the human’s response to Dean’s sneeze completely unexpected.

Before Dean could sneeze again, Sam dunked his head into the cap of water. Dean resurfaced, gasping and wiping at his eyes before burying his head in the nest of fabric he called a bed. A muffled sneeze could be heard as Dean slumped in place.

“No more cats,” Sam said grimly, wondering at their close call with Sherlock and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Several months after moving in to 221B Baker Street
> 
> This is my absolute favorite of the shorts so far. I love these cutes! Do not let Dean near the cat again! Do not!
> 
> Oh, and it's also a first look at Sam and Dean's adopted lil sister, Moira, who will be just eighteen when the series starts off.
> 
> Last one for a bit, at least until we get more of the pre-series fun drabbled out. Too busy working on the series itself :P
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Dean + cat from an anonymous ask on tumblr
> 
> [Original post](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/154175012061/stricken-sneezes) on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> So, lots of fun things are always happening over at the [Brothers Apart](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/) tumblr, and one of them is a series of prompts and short stories, all based on [Brothers Consulted](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/tagged/brothers-consulted/chrono)! I recommend following the blog, since I can't promise _all_ prompts will end up posted here, but for now, we hope you'll enjoy these stories!
> 
> Brothers Consulted is cowritten with The_Raconteur_24601, give her all the love for such a wonderful portrayal of Sherlock and John! Sam and Dean, as always, are done by me.
> 
> This specific prompt is from the [100 (G/t) Themes Challenge](http://brothersapart.tumblr.com/post/153448270959/100-gt-themes-challenge), created by :devnightmares06, pl1, kimstaticchild, laescritora and The_Raconteur_24601! If you're feeling up to the challenge, I recommend taking it on!


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